


Failure

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [56]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: Implied Relationships, Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 21:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: Lancelot fails a test.  Set right beforeHopes and Fearsin this series.





	Failure

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for the prompt, [](https://cat-o-wen.livejournal.com/profile)[cat_o_wen](https://cat-o-wen.livejournal.com/)! <3333 I hope this is a good explanation of your idea. :))) Feedback is love.
> 
> Originally written April 2012. New edit 2018.

“Why are you drunk?”

Lance’s head hung over the side of his mattress; his dorm room was littered with beer bottles and covered in bits of torn up paper. Arthur picked up a piece and tried to read it, but Lance shouted something unintelligibly at him and snatched the paper from his hand. Arthur sighed and settled next to Lance, shaking his head.

“’m not drunk. ‘m tired. And apparently stupid,” Lance added, “too stupid to pass a damn test.” He burped and rubbed a hand over his face and lay over again, dropping his head onto Arthur's thigh. “Am I stupid, Arthur?”

_Oh, please don’t go there._ “No. Why would you even ask that?”

“I can’t even pass this damn driving test!”  Lance shook the small piece of paper at Arthur; he screwed up his face, his brows descending like thunderheads over his dark eyes (sparkling, affective and addicting eyes, but Arthur wouldn't say that out loud), forcing shadows under them that made him seem way older and angrier than Arthur knew he was. Arthur sighed for the umpteenth time and touched Lance’s hair, trying to soothe him into a state of at least a tad bit of normal _Lance,_ instead of the whining person sitting next to him.  Lance jerked bolt upright and shook the paper in Arthur’s face yet again. “I am 20 years old! I own a damn car already! I know how to drive! And yet just because the state won’t give me a piece of plastic that says I can get behind the wheel,” he snorted and dropped the paper, “I can’t do it. Fuck’s sake. You ask why I’m drunk? I’m mad, Arthur! I’m angry as fuck! I want to drive my damn car! My beautiful Thunderbird I just spent more money on than those idiot fuckers will see in a year!”

Arthur’s eyebrows had gradually risen during Lance’s tirade until they almost reached his hairline. He put both hands on the sides of Lance’s face until the other man stopped talking, and waited until Lance was watching him blearily, his eyes blinking slowly as though he were sleepy.  Or hungover.  A small smile etched its way over Arthur's face, and he lowered his hands to rest on Lance's shoulders.  "Lance, calm down.  It'll be fine.  You'll pass; don't be a baby and just retake it.  It'll be fine," he repeated, but at the look on Lance's face, his smile crumbled and Lance jerked out of Arthur’s grasp.  His skin darkened dangerously, a red flush creeping up his neck and cheeks.

“What?”

“Lance – you aren’t dumb. You just have a hard time focusing some times. Don’t be a baby and take it again. I believe in y-”

The punch was fierce and close and Arthur snapped back against the wall, his head cracking on the brick as Lance was in his face and breathing down his neck, alcohol fumes wafting around his head. Arthur’s vision swam and he swore he could hear cartoon birdies cheeping in his ears.

“Get out of here.”

“I’m sorry?" he said muzzily; the cartoon birdies were cheeping more loudly and he had to shake his head to understand what Lance was saying.  Had the other man just _punched_ him??

“Get out of my room, Arthur!”

Lance was striding across the floor if only a bit unevenly and wrenched the door open, waiting for Arthur to get up and join him – Arthur staggered to the door and turned to face Lance when he was in the hall, opening his mouth to apologize, realizing he’d probably been a little _too_ honest for Lance, but as he leaned forward to speak the door shut in his face, almost clipping his nose off.  He blinked a few times and waited, raising a hand, wondering if he should knock again. When the light went off under the door, he lowered his hand and turned around, walking slowly down the hallway, finding the stairs and then the parking lot and then his car. Only then did he allow himself to moan and rub his cheek, which was purpling nicely, from what he saw in the rearview mirror once he got inside the Toyota.

He touched the bone with his fingers and winced and hissed and turned the key in the ignition a bit too violently, the car making a strange noise as he peeled out of the parking lot, surprised and yet not at the quick reaction from drunk Lance.  The cheeping was fading, but his pride might take a tad more time.

*

Arthur was sitting on a bench near the center of campus the following week, reading his criminology text, trying to take notes and drink coffee and juggle his tablet all at once. The sun was hot and his linen shirt and jeans were a bit too heavy and he jerked in surprise when Lance sat next to him, silent and familiar and Arthur sighed after a full minute of no talking.  Finally he turned and cocked eyebrows at Lance, who was biting his lip and looking everywhere but at Arthur.

“How are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed," Lance shrugged, his shirt collar tugging at his neck, and he jerked it back up into place with a long fingered hand that Arthur couldn't help but stare at.  He shook his head and sighed.  "Well, yeah," he answered, and snorted a laugh, setting his tablet down on top of his backpack, facing Lance fully on the bench.  Lance’s white face – bruised looking eyes and all – turned a shade whiter and he touched Arthur’s cheekbone, a brilliant dark purple and yellow mark blooming there. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” he murmured as Arthur copied Lance's shrug. “We’ve fought before,” he answered. “I’ve had worse."

Lance shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head, catching a few of the curls in the earpieces. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Shame rose in his gut, eating at it, making him ache with a sudden rush of pain. He'd punched Arthur. Arthur.  He swallowed and opened his mouth.

“Will you move in with me?”

“…what?”

“Will you share a house with me? I think I’ve found a good one, a few blocks from here, near the freeway too – it’s two bedroom two bath, and it would be much better to share the cost.”

Lance chanced a look at Arthur and was surprised at the drawn expression he wore, confusion etching lines into Arthur’s familiar face; he cleared his throat and sat up again, resting hands on thighs. “Well? What do you think?”

“…you want me to move in with you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess you could put it that way. I just wanted to get out of the dorm and found this little house…it’s too big for just me, and I thought, hey, this would be perfect for the two of us, and it would save both of us money, and it’s close enough I can walk.” He harrumphed and bit his lip. “Fucking test.”

Arthur still gaped at him.

“It’s nice, I promise. I looked at it this morning after Algebra,” Lance added, thinking maybe Arthur wasn’t quite getting it all. “It has a full garage so I can at least put my damn car somewhere for now.” He frowned and scrubbed his hands through his hair, dislodging his sunglasses so they fell on the sidewalk. He cursed and bent forward to pick them up.  When he straightened Arthur was facing him again, his expression strangely calm. The sun haloed his hair and made it look every color it really wasn’t, and Lance found himself oddly drawn to the red in the curls on the top right – he reached out to touch one, but Arthur caught his hand and set it down gently, slowly, their fingers comfortably entwined.

“Yes,” Arthur said. Lance twisted his lips and his frown deepened. “Are you sure? You haven’t even seen it yet.”

“I don’t need to. I trust you, and we will save money and gas this way. And if it’s within walking distance it will be close to the train lines too, right?” Arthur was still holding his hand but he was looking over Lance’s shoulder, eyes glazed, imagining. The campus was getting crowded, lunch time upon them, and Lance tugged at Arthur’s hand, making him stand.  “Come on. We can go look now, before your next class starts. The landlord said he’d hold it for me for a day, so this is perfect timing.” He smiled as Arthur tucked all his stuff inside his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, eyes focused inwardly, deep in thought.  
  
"Would there be a place for me to park the Triumph?" 

Lance bit his lip; he'd forgotten about the bike.  Arthur loved that fucking bike.  It was so new, Lance had only seen it once.  And he'd listened to Arthur talk about it for months, and now that he actually had it, the other man was _still_ talking about it.  But if it meant he'd be Lance's roommate, Lance didn't care what Arthur talked about or loved.  This was his best friend, and even though he'd punched him, Arthur still held his hand, and still was willing to talk to him, and was still willing to stand next to him and let Lance laugh with him and drink coffee with him and study with him -

Arthur was watching him carefully, his bruised face slightly guarded, but when Lance turned his smile on him, Arthur's broadened.  "Sure, Arthur," Lance said brightly.  "Plenty of room for your bike.  _And_ my Thunderbird."  His mouth twisted, but quickly smoothed out as he tugged on Arthur's hand and led Arthur along behind him, passing a few friends he ignored even as they shouted his name. He settled his sunglasses back on his face and kept walking, which he figured he might as well get used to.

_Fuck._

And yet – he clasped Arthur’s hand more tightly and kept going and let the other man trail after him, lost in his own thoughts and at least not seemingly angry at Lance for the drunken punch.

The Thunderbird would definitely wait for him.


End file.
